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Dawn In Dorsington

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The sun rose up today on wings of fire
That bore a blank horizon to the sky
Then died—or was it dyed?—its lateral pyre
A literal blue. My throat gave out a cry
Of pure delight as left and right brain fused—
My bare feet rooted to the boards beside
The window frame, while ghostly voices oozed
From cracks and crannied walls and beams that cried:
‘I, too saw such a dawn across that field
From just this spot!’ And others chimed, ‘Yes. Yes!
We, too!’ Until, though pagan dross, I kneeled
Beneath the weight of life’s connectednesss.
       The lambs are rising, fleeces wet with dew,
       And I so glad to rise alive with you.